


thirty minute love affair

by Sway



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Caning, Dildos, First Kiss, Good Omens Bingo 2021, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, In Public, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Making Out in the Bentley (Good Omens), Masturbation, Mpreg, Multi, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Public Humiliation, Roman baths, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Threesome - F/M/M, Urination, Watersports, in the broadest sense, slumber party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29631012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: Don't tell me romance is deadSo wake up your sleepy headThink of all the magic we could makeAll your dreams...~ Paloma Faith(kinky) ficlets - 666 words each - tagged as we go - please refer to the chapter summaries for infos on pronouns and efforts
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley/Anathema Device
Comments: 84
Kudos: 56
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	1. Pillow Principality - Human AU - Gentle!Dom Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to house my ficlets for the Good Omens Bingo. 
> 
> Most of them won't relate to one another. There'll be Human AU and canon complient stuff, mixed efforts and whatnot.  
> Please refer to the tags and the chapter notes. I'll try to add them as best as I can.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Aziraphale is a Dom for rent, letting himself be serviced by his beautiful sub Crowley
> 
> intersex Crowley who has a vulva, Aziraphale has a penis, the both go by he/him

“That’s it, my darling. Almost there.” Aziraphale leans back against the cushioned chaise, spreading his legs a bit further to make more room for Crowley to move. His hand moves fast between their bodies, stroking his cock in the same rhythm as Crowley’s thrusts “You’re doing so well, my love.”

Crowley doesn’t reply and only nods, biting his bottom lip in concentration. 

“Let me hear you.” With his free hand, Aziraphale brushes a stray tress of hair out of Crowley’s face. “I want you here with me.”

Crowley puffs out a sigh that is more of a held breath than a sound. “Yes, Mister Fell.”

“That’s better, my sweet. Now go on…. Make me come.”

Crowley adjusts his position, one foot on the carpet, the other knee on the chaise as he pumps into Aziraphale. His fingers dig into the upholstered back, knuckles turning white. More hair falls from the loose bun in the back of his head, framing his flushed face.

Aziraphale comes with a little grunt, spending himself between them, carefully avoiding soiling the hem of his shirt where it’s bunched up over his belly.

Crowley fucks him through it until Aziraphale’s hand on his hip stills his movements. 

“Thank you, darling. That was quite lovely.”

“You’re welcome, Mister Fell,” Crowley pants with exertion. 

“Sit back for me, will you? Show yourself to me.”

Crowley does as he’s told. He pulls out and sits back against the other end of the chaise, spreading his legs. 

“May I?” Aziraphale holds out a hand and Crowley nods. Slowly, he eases the strapless strap-on out of Crowley’s pussy, letting the vibrating end linger against his skin for a moment longer. “How wet you are for me.”

“Yes, Mister Fell.” Crowley spreads his legs a bit more just the way Aziraphale likes. 

“You didn’t come, did you? You didn’t come without telling me?”

Crowley shakes his head.

“Good, my darling. You know I’d hate to punish you for enjoying yourself.” Aziraphale switches the toy off and puts it to the side. “Do you wish to come for me now?”

“Yes, Mister Fell. May I?”

“Of course, you may. Do go on. Let me watch you.”

Crowley slides a hand between his legs, easily sliding two fingers into his pussy, taking his wetness over his clit. He rolls it between his fingers before he finds the right rhythm of running his fingers along the sides.

“That’s it, darling. Show me how you like it. Just like the first time,” Aziraphale urges him on, lazily stroking himself. “Tell me when you’re close.”

Crowley bites his bottom lips, brow furrowed in concentration. His hand goes faster, his pace more and more erratic. “Please, Mister Fell,” he breaths, already edging along the brink.

Aziraphale lets him wait for a moment. “Come now, my sweet.”

The breath hitches in Crowley’s throat as he comes. His body wants to curl around that sensation but he forces his legs to stay open, the heel of his hand pressed against his clit as he rides out his orgasm. 

“Thank you… Mister Fell,” he pants as he comes back to his senses. 

“I have to thank you, love. You’re absolutely stunning like that.” Aziraphale leans forward and presses a kiss to Crowley’s knee. “Give us a cuddle, will you?”

Crowley forces his weak limbs to cooperate, then settles between Aziraphale thighs, leaning his head on the other man’s chest. 

“There we are. That’s nice, isn’t it?” 

Crowley doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies, before Crowley slowly pulls out of the embrace and starts dressing himself. 

“Same time next week, then?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale nods, straightening his shirt. He watches how Crowley shimmies into the tightest jeans before he hides most of his lean frame in an oversized jumper that falls off one shoulder, leaving his chest half bare. “Leave the money on the counter, if you please.”

“Of course, Mister Fell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first one is a glimpse into a large piece I want to write.  
> Let me know what you think.


	2. Kiss - Canon - post!Apoca-no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Aziraphale needs a hug after the Apocalypse that wasn't... 
> 
> He/him pronouns for both - no efforts mentioned

“I don’t have to go.” - “Stay. Please.”

They speak at the same time and a stilted silence falls between them where they stand, halfway in and out of the shop.

Crowley watches Aziraphale go in; the angel’s gaze flits over the stacks of books, mentally catalogues them, checking them off a list only he knows. Then Aziraphale stops right under the skylight and turns around.

While the shop looks like the original one, Aziraphale doesn’t look quite right in it. As if he doesn’t belong. Lost.

It takes Crowley a moment to follow, letting the door fall close behind him. Everything is very quiet, the noises of Soho locked out, of no concern to them. Suddenly Crowley feels what he’s seen in the angel just a moment ago.

He’s lost. They both are. Lost because....

Crowley takes a few steps to find himself in front of Aziraphale, hands stashed into his pockets because all of a sudden he isn’t sure what to do with his limbs. The angel himself seems to have found a profound interest in a loose thread on his waistcoat.

“Crowley, I… I’m going to ask you something I haven’t asked anyone. Ever. So… I’d appreciate it if you’d hear me out. Preferably… you won’t laugh, either. Could you do that?” 

“I’m not making promises,” Crowley answers truthfully. 

“Right… So… Thing is that I… I feel rather.… Well, I’m not sure what I feel exactly so… what I mean to ask is...if you would consider... “

“Will you please just ask?” Crowley interrupts him.

“You promised you would let me finish.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Will you give me a hug, Crowley?” Aziraphale blurts, then he clasps his hands over his mouth as if he’s insulted Heaven and Hell at the same time.

“Excuse me?” 

Aziraphale’s shoulders sag. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t know what has gotten into me. I suppose… to say that I’m anxious would be an adequate term. And… granted I’ve only read about it but… I think a hug might… might help.” He takes a step back. “But… but only if you… you don’t have to, of course, if you don’t…”

Crowley has never hugged anyone before. There are no hugs in Hell. At all. Ever.

He steps forward and wraps his arms around the angel. Just like that. 

Aziraphale stiffens, almost struggling away in surprise. Then he gives in and returns the embrace, sliding his hands around Crowley’s back to pull him close.

The angel feels burning hot. He’s probably perfectly tempered by human standards but to Crowley it feels as if he’s hugging a furnace. Like hellfire. But different. Better. He feels burning hot and soft and he smells of dust and fresh cut grass and champagne.

Aziraphale lets out the tiniest _“Oh.”_ and buries his face against Crowley’s neck, shuffling closer.

Crowley can only guess what he must feel like to him. A little too cool. A little too boney. He could soften a little, round out the edges a bit if that would make it more - his thoughts scatter when Aziraphale tightens the hug; it’s not so bad then - comfortable.

They stay like this for a little while. Crowley doesn’t bother counting the seconds or minutes. Maybe.

It’s eight minutes and 37 seconds.

Then reality and the present and the now-at-this-very-moment come zooming back like an out-of-control lorry on the M25.

Aziraphale kisses him. 

It’s nothing, really, in the great scheme of things. 

It’s just those burning hot lips pressing against his. Chaste. Barely there. But _there_ like… woah.

And then it’s over. And Aziraphale is gone.

No, not gone. Just a few steps away which might as well be a mile, looking wide-eyed and absolutely petrified.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…,” he stammers. He’s given away his flaming sword first week on the job but this he is sorry for? “Forgive me, I…”

A stilted silence falls between them, then they speak at the same time. “I should go.” - “Stay. Please.”


	3. Threesome - Human!AU - Gentle!Dom Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Ananthema is a Domme and has a threesom with Aziraphale and his sub Crowley.... as you do.
> 
> He/Him for Aziraphale and Crowley, Penis for Aziraphale, vulva for Crowley.
> 
> This is an Anethema/Crowley/Aziraphale scene, mentioning Gabriel.  
> If that's not your thing, skip this one.

“He’s such a good boy, Aziraphale. You’ve trained him well.” Anathema tips her head back, long hair spreading over the back of the chaise. 

“You know you can talk to him. He’s not a dog.” Aziraphale almost chides her. He runs light fingers down Crowley’s back, drawing up gooseflesh on his pale skin.

“He sure knows how to lick me like one.” She looks down between her legs where Crowley is gently sucking on her clit. “I’m sorry, honey. I spent too much time working Gabriel over. All I can think of is ‘dog’ when I’m done with him.”

Crowley moans something that sounds like. “It’s alright, Miss.”

“No shoptalk in front of third parties, dear.” This time Aziraphale does chide her. He adjusts his stance behind Crowley, the change of position angling his cock against Crowley’s g-spot. “How is he, though? That ol’ dog.”

Anathema laughs at that. “Enjoys his spankings as always. _Begging_ me to use the Nine Tails on him.”

“I knew he was in good hands with you.”

“You always give me the really naughty ones.” Anathema reaches down to thread her fingers into Crowley’s hair. “Would you like to make me come, babe?”

Crowley pulls off of her, his chin glistening wet. “May I, Miss?”

“You may.” She lets go of him and he immediately dives back to eating her out. “Be quick, though. I have a dinner date with Newt later.”

Aziraphale tuts. “You’re an awful person.”

“What? I can concentrate better when I’m satisfied.”

Crowley does satisfy her. In broad strokes he licks up between her lips before sucking her clit hard into his mouth. He hums against her, the very tip of his tongue flicking against her, until she comes with a little hitched scream. She arches her back, biting down on the back of her hand as she rides it out against him.

“Oh my… that was… really good,” she breaths, slumping against the chaise. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss.” 

“I think I want some of that. That looked like fun,” Aziraphale muses, never breaking his slow rhythm. “Would you like to suck my cock?”

“Yes, Mister Fell. May I?”

Carefully, Aziraphale eases out of him and rises, snapping off the condom as he goes, before he settles next to Anathema, his legs spread. “Go on then, love. All yours.”

Eagerly, Crowley takes his cock into his mouth almost all the way down. They’ve tried to make him swallow all of Aziraphale but he’s just too thick for Crowley. 

At first he bobs slowly over him, getting accustomed to him, slicking him up with his saliva. Then he pulls back a bit until he only has the head of Aziraphale’s prick in his mouth, suckling on it just as he had on Anathema.

“You know how to make me feel good, darling.” Aziraphale twirls a strand of Crowley’s hair around his fingers. “Not long now, my love.”

Crowley begins to work him in earnest. He likes Anathema, likes licking her, but sucking off Aziraphale is… 

“Will you swallow for me, my sweet?” Aziraphale’s grip on Crowley tightens.

Crowley nods, never letting go.

“Open, my darling.”

Crowley opens his eyes and mouth at the same time, readying himself. He flinches when the first spurt of Aziraphale’s come lands on his tongue. He sticks it out farther, taking what Aziraphale gives him before he eagerly swallows.

“Thank you, dove.”

“Thank you, Mister Fell,” Crowley answers, a little dazed. 

“Fuck, you two are gorgeoous,” Anathema snaps them out of their little moment. 

“We are, aren’t we?” Aziraphale muses. “I am indeed very lucky this one sauntered into my shop that day.”

“Anyway… I should get going.”

“Of course. Crowley, why don’t you help Miss Anathema get dressed.”

Crowley rises and obediently follows the order.

“Thank you, Crowley. Aziraphale, I’ll see you next week?”

“You will.” He gives her a little wave as he leaves. “Now, Crowley… why don’t you lay back for me and let me take care of you?”


	4. Flame - Human AU - fire watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Crowley is on a fire watch tower, taking to Aziraphale over the radio.
> 
> He/him for both.
> 
> This is inspired by [this amazing piece of art](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/post/644160984204853248/ive-been-thinking-about-a-sort-of-firewatch-au) by lonicerca-caprifolium. Please do check them out!

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Of course. That's what I'm here for, aren't I?" 

"Am I your first?" 

A hearty laugh comes over the radio, a bit crackly around the edges. "I might not be the most experienced man but I can assure you, Crowley… you are not."

Crowley can't help the blush and he runs a hand over his face. Not that it makes any difference. The man on the other end of the staticy connection - Aziraphale, as odd a name as the man seems to be - can't see him. 

"Not what I meant, angel." 

"I know that but it's always quite fun to hear you get all… I suppose flustered is the right word," Aziraphale says around another laugh but sobers quickly. "What did you mean, then?"

"This… talking to whoever is up here."

"It does come with the job description."

Crowley doesn't say anything, irritated by Aziraphale's answer. He knows it's the man's job to talk to him but that hasn't been his question. And he knows Aziraphale knows. 

"Nevermind," Crowley says as last. "I should…" He puts the radio back on its station. He should probably charge it anyway. 

He putters about in the little kitchen, putting the kettle on, spooning some instant coffee into his cup, trying to ignore the irritation that's still lingering in the back of his brain. He has turned the question over and over in his head, trying to work up the courage to actually ask it. It wasn't even a big question in the great scheme of things but for him… 

"You are."

Aziraphale's voice through the radio startles him as he pours the boiling water over the coffee granules. He spills some over his hand and yelps in pain. Dropping the kettle and cup in a big splatter, he quickly sticks his hand under the faucet to cool his scalded skin. 

"Crowley?" comes Aziraphale's voice again. "Are you there?" 

"Now you want to talk," Crowley growls in the direction of the radio. "Perfect bloody timing."

"Guess not. Well then…"

Hurriedly wetting a towel, Crowley stumbles over to the radio and presses the button. "I'm here. I'm here. I just… give me a second." 

"Is something wrong?" Aziraphale sounds alert. 

"Burned myself on the kettle." Tucking the radio under his chin, Crowley wraps the towel around his hand.

"Are you hurt? Do you need help?" 

"Little bit and no. It's fine."

"Are you sure? I can have someone there by morning." 

"It's just a scald. I'm not going to disintegrate." 

"Are you sure?" Aziraphale asks again, his voice rising in pitch. 

"Yes, angel. You should see the other guy." He toes against the offending kettle. "Can you stay on? I need to clean this up." 

"Of course."

Quickly, Crowley mops up the spilled water and fixes himself that coffee. At last, he steps out on the deck. He finds himself taking a deep breath before he clicks the 'talk' button again. "Aziraphale?" 

"I'm here." 

"You were saying?"

He's met with silence once more and almost asks again. Almost, because there's only so much his ego can take. 

"You are the first… I talk to like this. Like we're…" Aziraphale pauses, then huffs a little laugh. "Granted the first person I… well, met… on your tower was a mother of three and the last bloke was… of a rather radical mindset, to put it mildly…" 

"And the other towers? What about them?" Crowley peers into the dark, trying to spot the other platforms even though he knows it's futile. 

"No, I… we check in regularly of course but… it's… it's not like this. This is…" 

Crowley smiles as Aziraphale falls silent. "Look who's flustered now." 

"I'm not. I… Why do you ask, Crowley?" 

"No reason," Crowley lies and they both know it. He has plenty of reasons but those take a lot more courage to voice than he has. 

"Can I ask _you_ something then?" 

"Anything." 

"When your time is up… do you think we should meet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr @tastymoves


	5. Sex Through The Ages - Canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they have sex. Through the ages.
> 
> He/him pronouns for both, efforts are up for personal interpretation

**Mesopotamia**  
Their first time is desperate. And a bit pathetic.

They don’t really know what they’re doing. 

Aziraphale has watched the humans do it. In fact, he has watched the _first_ humans do it (just like so, no explanation, no manual) and the concept seems fairly easy. 

So when Crowley bunches up his gown around his hips and settles in his lap, he feels himself slide into him. Just like so. No explanation. Just a hushed ‘please’ that Crowley presses against him in sync with his body.

Crowley clings to him, his breath hot and loud in Aziraphale’s ear. The din of the storm outside almost drowns his sobs. Almost. 

**Rome**  
It’s the oysters. It must. And the wine. And the warmth of the baths. 

Otherwise there’s no explanation for why Aziraphale becomes almost pliant in Crowley’s hands. Why his toga comes undone, leaving him bare. 

Crowley is above him as he lays back, the marble cool against his heated skin. Everything is smooth; the stone he lays on, the fabric of Crowley’s toga as it falls around him, and Crowley.

Crowley who moves inside him as if he’s never done anything else. As if they have never done anything else. As if they’re not surrounded by at least a few dozen men, watching them. As if this is meant to be.

**Medieval England**  
Aziraphale can’t say when he’s last been comfortable. Must have been weeks ago. 

He tries to bury the plume of his breath into the heavy fur of Crowley’s coat. 

It’s a good way to hide what they’re doing, to keep it between them. It’s slow. Private. Secretive. The need for warmth, for contact - a connection - is stronger than the desire for anything else. 

Crowley reaches back, drapes Aziraphale’s arm over his hips, guides his hand to his center. With cold, clammy fingers Aziraphale brings him off, feels him quiver around him in something other than cold for once.

“Stay,” Aziraphale breaths as he follows with a shallow thrust. “Just for now.”

**Shakespeare’s Globe**  
He still prefers the funny ones, Crowley thinks as he sits back against the back of his bed after the Hamlet premiere. A roaring success. A shame that Aziraphale has missed it. Who is still up in Scotland on their little joint venture.

The fleeting thought of Aziraphale in a plaid makes him groan. For various reasons. One of them makes him hard, the fabric of his breeches chafing.

He frees himself, trying not to think of how lovely it’d be to swipe up the heavy tartan, revealing lovely pale skin for him to touch and kiss and…

He comes hard, soiling the brocade, but the thought stays. All night long.

**The Blitz**  
Crowley tries to say no, tries to push him away, but the sad expression on his face dissipates when Aziraphale touches him. Touches him there.

They’re amidst the ruins, sirens and screams as their backdrop.

Aziraphale has pushed him against one of the few remaining walls. The fires and searchlights make his eyes shine bright as he kneels down, his bookbag by his feet. He makes quick work of Crowley’s trousers, freeing him expertly, and whatever protest Crowley has tried dies on his tongue when Aziraphale takes him into his mouth.

They’ve never done that. Not this. Not out in the open.

Aziraphale ruins him, sirens and screams as their backdrop.

**Apoca-no**  
This time it’s desperate. And a bit pathetic.

They know what they’re doing at least but that doesn’t make it any less…. 

The sofa in Aziraphale’s back room is all lumps and Crowley is all bones and gosh dammit those tight jeans won’t come off. 

They settle for the floor as last, quickly freeing enough carpet off books and paper for Aziraphale to lay on his back with Crowley in his lap and it’s… 

“Please,” comes Crowley’s hushed voice again, still secretive, still barely there. “Please.”

Aziraphale pulls him in, feels him like he hasn’t in ages. Literal ages. 

They stay like that after. Close. Intimate. For the first time. Together.


	6. Slumber Party - Canon - post-Apoca-no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they live in a little cottage in the South Downs and Aziraphale insist on having the First Of Many Slumber Parties
> 
> He/him for both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the lovely people on the GOB discord for the film suggestions.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not… cozy.”

“It is for me.”

“Nonsense. I’m not having it.”

That’s how Crowley finds himself in a red and black tartan flannel pajama in a cottage in the South Downs. 

Just like that. At the snap of Aziraphale’s finger who had genuinely pouted when Crowley had returned from his room wearing his regular clothes (all tight and… well, tight) to their - as Aziraphale had announced in a great gesture and even bigger words - First Of Many Slumber Parties.

The angel himself wears a nightshirt - Crowley chides himself for the split second that the word ‘negligee’ has crossed his mind - in his usual colors. He has matching slippers.

“There… much better now. Shall we?” Aziraphale gestures for their sitting room. He doesn’t move until Crowley has walked past him. He does so with a dramatic eye roll for good measure. “This shall be good fun.”

“Things that are deemed ‘good fun’ beforehand seldom are,” Crowley announces as he plops down on his sofa. 

They each have one, of course, facing the TV set that Crowley had insisted on. It’s mounted over the fireplace Aziraphale had insisted on.

“If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I can always find something to read if you....” Aziraphale still has the huge bowl of popcorn - sweet and salty, naturally - in his lap as he sits down.

Crowley holds out the remote. “Just pick a film, angel.”

Aziraphale had insisted they pay for their Netflix subscription. After everything - the apocalypse that wasn’t, the somewhat missing Saturday afternoon, the surprising vacancy of the most perfect cottage in the most perfect spot of land - it was the least they could do to keep up appearances. Nobody needed to know that their subscription had a much larger repertoire than what their neighbors might be watching.

They settle for ‘Casablanca’ at last after some good natured protest from Crowley. Who isn’t really watching the film after all.

No. He is watching Aziraphale watch the film, trying to decide if it is fate or dumb luck or something else entirely that has brought them here. 

To a house that is theirs, a garden that is Crowley’s and kitchen for Aziraphale. To a little corner in the world that is theirs now. Where they could… be. Where maybe they could be… happy. 

Crowley chokes on the wine they had poured - popcorn and wine, who does that? they do - at his own thoughts. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asks without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Yeah, yeah… fine… all good.” He waves a hand but bites back another cough.

“Then do be quiet, you’re missing the best bit.”

Crowley wants to protest. For one, no one tells him to be quiet. Second, they can rewind for all eternity if they missed the best bits. He says neither because his mind is still hung up on that other thought. 

Happy. Aziraphale and him. Happy. Together even? Not just happy in their separate ways?

It’s not a new thought, that one. In fact he’s been having it for the better part of 6000 years. It just had never been palpable before. Could it be now? For a little while at least? 

The film finishes and Crowley yawns demonstratively. 

They turn down the lights and head upstairs. Since between the two of them Crowley is the one who does the actual sleeping, his bedroom is dark and cozy while Aziraphale’s looks somewhat like his shop but in miniature format and with a bed in the far corner. Appearances and all.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says, standing in his door. He’s backlit and where the fabric of his nightshirt doesn’t stretch over his body it’s a bit translucent and Crowley has a hard time concentrating on the words. “For indulging me with this.”

Crowley manages a nod. “Any time, angel.”

Aziraphale has almost closed his door when he turns again, smiling. “I think we can be happy here.”


	7. Flaming Sword - Human!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Aziraphale tells biblical stories and Crowley makes glass sex toys.
> 
> He/him and male genitals for both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again those bloody enablers on the GOB Discord... I should not be left alone with these people.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Crowley, you absolutely must not. That’s… it’s simply not right.”

“You’re the one who told me about it,” Crowley huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, so you’re saying this is my fault?” As if he’s burned himself on it, Aziraphale puts the box Crowley has handed him on his desk. He even wipes his fingers on his trousers.

“Absolutely. You told me about that sword and how it was flaming like anything.”

“And when, pray tell, did I tell you to go to your workshop and make… this?” Aziraphale points at the box and its content.

Inside the box, nestled in smooth black velvet, lies a smooth object made of glass. It’s mostly clear but has red and orange streaks worked through it that intertwine alone the ribbed length. 

“You know you can say the word, angel.”

“I must not.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“It’s a dildo, Aziraphale. A very nice glass dildo I made myself,” Crowley prides himself. 

“And you named it The Flaming Sword. That’s… blasphemy.”

“It’s a joke,” Crowley groans.

“And that… that tagline or whatever you might call that.”

Crowley grins from ear to ear. “Is that a Flaming Sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Yeah, I came up with that.”

“Of course, you would.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale huffs. “It’s just… something you would say, I suppose. In your… circles.”

“They are your circles, too, angel.”

Aziraphale flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “But I don’t use… these.” He points at the box, turning away from the offending object.

“Keep it, then.”

“What?”

“It’s the first one. A prototype. You give it a go and tell me if you like it. Then I’ll make more for my shop.”

“I would never….” Aziraphale pushes the box across his desk. “Please, take that with you. I mustn’t have such a thing here. This is a place of knowledge, not of… frivolity.”

“Suit yourself.” Crowley rises and pats Aziraphale on the back. “By the way, this does heat up in warm water.”

Flustered and with his face beet red, Aziraphale remains sitting at his desk in the little book shop. He loves Crowley - not that he’d tell him. Ever. - but he also hates him, especially when he nonchalantly leaves one of the latest sex toys from his manufactory on his desk.

*

The blunt tip of the shaft feels cool against his skin, slippery with lube. His preparation is perfunctory and he gasps in pleasured pain when he pushes in. It’s the oddest feeling, smooth but the ribs offer just the right amount of friction. The curve is just right as it slides in further, almost inhibited, the head pressing just against the…

Aziraphale doesn’t do this often and even less frequently with any aid. Especially if said aid comes from Cinful Glass - the C is for Crowley, get it? - and is hand-blown by his best friend and object of his fantas….

His hand flies to his cock as he angles the glass dildo up. He’s rock hard, has been for a while, and he wants to get off but he also wants to savour this. He needs to get it out of his system but wants to indulge just a little bit longer. He is certainly not imagining the glass dildo is…

Aziraphale comes with a surprised gasp and a hush _Oh my…_ , barely able to work the dildo and his cock at the same time. He strokes himself through it, letting the toy slide from his body.

He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror as he goes to the bathroom to clean the dildo. He still feels it inside him, the stretch, the slight burn - told you was a flaming sword, didn’t I? - wishing it was something else. Someone else.

In the little notebook he keeps by the bed he writes: “Five stars. I thoroughly recommend it.”


	8. The Bentley - Canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an angel wears all white to the ballet and a demon likes it A LOT
> 
> He/him for both, definitely a penis for Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This coincides with [this prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/4446.html?thread=3454558) of the kink meme.

The ballet. The devildamn ballet. 

How Crowley has ever agreed to this he doesn’t know. He must have been drunk. There’s no other expectation as to how he finds himself in a box seat at the Royal Opera House, watching Swan Lake.

Well, he’s not exactly watching the ballet. He is watching Aziraphale, eyeing him carefully where he sits next to him, the angel peering through a tiny set of magnifying glasses. 

He’s a vision, that angel. He usually is but tonight… tonight he’s decked in white. All white. A white tailcoat. Of course, the waistcoat has the faintest hint of tartan to it but otherwise… he’s practically radiant. He’s glowing whenever he steps into the close vicinity of a lightbulb.

So it’s only a natural reaction - perfectly natural, all is just fine - that Crowley is rock hard throughout the entire length of the ballet. Well no, he is in this highly inconvenient state from the moment he picks Aziraphale up at his shop. Halfway into the second act, his trousers are already sticking uncomfortably to his skin and he curses his decision to not only go with his corporation’s default settings but to also forego pants. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale stage-whispers at him and Crowley flinches, almost finishing this ordeal prematurely.

“Yeah, yes.” Crowley makes a dismissive gesture towards the stage.

Aziraphale shrugs and the way his pristine shirt shifts over his chest… sloppy seconds, right there. 

“You hated it, didn’t you?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley blinks. 

They are back in the Bentley and Crowley can’t quite recall how they got there and how they’ve made it safely to Aziraphale’s shop.

“What?” he asks eloquently.

“The ballet. You barely looked at it.”

Crowley fish-mouths for a moment before he answers. “It’s… the tights. I can’t with the tights, me.”

“So that’s why you’ve been aroused during the entire performance.” 

It’s the simplest statement and yet Crowley is ready to have his conniption, thank you very much. “Uhm… yeah,” he hears himself say. 

“I can… if you like….” Aziraphale nods at Crowley’s crotch.

“What?”

“I could take care of that. Only seems fair, doesn’t it? I made you sit through the ballet after all, so… that is a bit my fault.”

The angel’s reasoning is awfully sound. Which doesn’t help. At all. 

That Crowley - for the devil’s know what reason - answers “Yeah, alright.” is… whatever it is, that’s what it is.

With surprisingly skilled motions, Aziraphale reaches for the zipper of his trousers and frees his aching cock. 

To every onlooker - hopefully there aren’t any, they are in the street after all - it must be a ridiculous sight. A study in contrast. A gorgeous creature clad in pearly white next to this scrawny stick-figure in all black with his prick out.

“Quite a bit of a mess you got there,” Aziraphale laughs a bit awkwardly as he starts his torture. 

His torture really are slow, deliberate strokes that are nothing like the coarse motions Crowley uses on himself. No, it’s careful, almost hesitant, with a bit of twist at the end that does things to Crowley. Good things. 

Everything in Aziraphale’s hand is wet and sticky, the obscene sounds of it mix with Crowley’s quiet pants. His fingers ache from where he digs them into the Bentley’s upholstery and something in his brain is about to crack. 

“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. 

“You needn’t hold back for me, dear. Finish whenever you like.”

That’s all it takes. Grappling for something to hold on to, Crowley comes over Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Goodness me. Looks like you needed that.” Aziraphale works him through it, draws every last bit from him. 

“Thank you,” Crowley says when he has one braincell back online. “That was…” He short-circuits again when Aziraphale reaches for his pocket square and cleans him off.

“Well, then…” Aziraphale puts the soiled fabric back into his pocket. “Sleeping Beauty is on next week. Pick me up at 7?”

Crowley puts himself away, mopping at his brow. “As always.”


	9. Pineapple Pizza - Canon - post-Apoca-no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale is very much pregnant and has cravings. 
> 
> He/him for both, effort are your personal interpretation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I blame the GOB server. Not cool, people. Not cool.

“That is vile. Absolutely disgusting. Obscene. Yuck.”

“Your lot invented it.”

“I know. Isn’t it beautiful?” Crowley beams from ear to ear as he jostles the large square box into the sitting room and onto the coffee table. At the last minute, Aziraphale can kick a book off the table that otherwise would have fallen victim to an irreparable grease stain. “There you go, angel.”

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale shuffles forward to the edge of his seat. From the box, he draws a limp slice of pizza onto a plate, then settles back again. He balances the plate on the cusp of his stomach, picking at the topping. “I never understood why people hate this so much. It’s sweet and savoury at the same time. Like rain on a hot summer day.”

Crowley stares at him as Aziraphale takes the first bite. “It’s pineapple pizza, angel. It’s fruit. And meat. On a pizza.”

“Humans serve ham with melons,” Aziraphale says as if it explains the mechanics of the world. 

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” Crowley plops down on the sofa next to him, crossing his arms. 

“There’s turkey with cranberry sauce. Pears and brie go with ham. Pork chops and apples go well together, too. Oh, and chicken and mango.” Aziraphale continues to devour his slice.

“That’s it. I’m moving out. Back to London where people are reasonable.” Crowley throws his hands up. 

“No, you’re not. And no, they’re not,” Aziraphale corrects him, matter-of-factly. He reaches for another slice but can’t get it onto his plate. 

Crowley all but leaps to his side. “Here, let me help.” 

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale huffs a bit out of breath as he sits back. “This is getting more and more in the way every day, isn’t it?”

Crowley looks him over but doesn’t say a thing. He just looks. At the sparkle in Aziraphale’s eyes, the rosey sheen on his cheeks, that bit of greasy shine on his lips. And down further at the round swell of Aziraphale’s belly. It’s true, he’s grown visibly in the past few days, filling out the once loose shirt quite considerably. 

“Look at us… sitting here like ordinary people. You tending to my insane craving and me not being able to see my feet anymore,” Aziraphale muses into the silence. 

Crowley finds himself slinking to the floor, coming to sit between Aziraphale’s knees, right where the globe of stomach stretches against the tartan pajama pants. “You’re still not going to tell me what it’ll be? Boy or girl? Horns or halo?”

Aziraphale reaches down and twists one of Crowley’s curls around his finger. “Not quite yet, dear. I will share them with you soon enough but let me keep this to myself for a little longer, yes?”

“You know I’d do anything, don’t you? For you. And them.” Crowley traces a finger down where he knows Aziraphale’s linea nigra - or aureum, in his case - is.

“I know, love. And I will remind you of that when they’re crying in the middle of the night. And when they’re teething. When they need their nappies changed...”

“You don’t sleep anyway,” Crowley protests softly. 

Aziraphale just laughs at that and it vibrates through his entire very pregnant body.

Crowley leans against him with no real weight behind it. “I mean it, though. I would…”

“And you already do. You went and ordered pineapple pizza for me over the phone when either one of us could have just…” Aziraphale waves a hand in front of Crowley’s face. 

“And I told you we are not wasting a perfectly good miracle on that.”

“Quite right. I suppose we have overdone it a bit with the miracles anyway.” Aziraphale cups his belly protectively. “Best not attract any more attention. Well, maybe for the teething.”

“I will protect you.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

Aziraphale looks at him, then breaks into a smile that is… yes, devildamn it… it’s glowing. “If you really do, you’ll give me another slice.”


	10. In Public - Human AU - gentle!Dom Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale makes Crowley wear a bullet vibrator to the shops
> 
> he/him for both; a vulva for Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes with [this prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/4446.html?thread=3405918#cmt3405918) of the kink meme.

Aziraphale watches him from a distance as he strolls through the aisles. He has made Crowley dress up today. Not much, not like he does when he dresses himself in full mourning garb, but just enough to make him stand out a bit.

High-heeled boots, a tight slip dress. All in black, of course. He’s allowed to wear one of those loose-fit jumpers over it that disguises his figure. Aziraphale finds that to be a shame but the loose knitting is a compromise. It covers and exposes at the same time. A few strands of hair have come out of the bun, falling into his face and over the ever-present-when-in-public shades.

Aziraphale knows that’s all he’s wearing.

That is when he makes his approach, somewhere between the wine and the crisps. 

“You look absolutely stunning, dear,” he says by way of greeting. 

Crowley turns to him, his face flushed, sweat beading along his temples. “Mister Fell,” he breaths. “I didn’t know you’d…”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t you trust me?” A tinge of hurt colors Crowley’s question.

“Of course, I do. I became curious, that’s all. Can’t blame me for that, can you?” He steps up to Crowley, putting a hand in the small of his back, the gesture possessive and protective at the same time. “How does it feel?” He nods down Crowley’s body and for a moment they’re both silent, the faintest of buzzes audible.

“It’s…,” Crowley starts but trails off, screwing his eyes shut behind his glasses. 

“Use your words, love. I can turn it up if that makes you find the right ones.” 

“Please, Mister Fell, no more,” Crowley pleads, squirming just so. 

“Then tell me.”

“It feels nice,” Crowley stammers, crossing his legs. “Really nice.”

“I was hoping it would.” Aziraphale presses a kiss to his temple. “I must admit that when I bought it for you, I didn’t think you’d look this radiant wearing it.”

“Thank you, Mister Fell.”

“You’re welcome, darling. Why don’t you go over to that shelf and pick a nice bottle of wine for us for after?”

“Yes, Mister Fell.”

“I’d like for you to hike your skirt up a bit and bend over for me. I’d like to see.”

Crowley looks at him. “Please, I…”

Aziraphale takes his phone out and draws up an app. “A few more rpm it is, then?”

“No, please, I’ll... “ On slightly shaking legs, Crowley does as he’s told. He walks over to the wine in question, tucks a bit at his dress and leans down, keeping his long legs straight. He’s not exactly flashing anyone but it’s enough to show off the slim pink end of the bullet vibrator. His thighs quiver, an almost reflexive reaction to Aziraphale’s pleased sigh behind him.

A bottle of red in hand, Crowley walks back to him. “Did I do good, Mister Fell?”

“You did, my darling. You’re so wet already. Are you close?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need to come?”

Crowley is quiet for a moment, then nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” Aziraphale steps in even closer, taking the wine from his hand to put into his own basket. “Why don’t you continue with your shopping? You can take as long as you need but I’d like you to come to orgasm before you leave.” 

“Mister Fell…”

“I know it makes you uncomfortable, my love, but you’ll be so proud of yourself afterwards. And so will I.” Aziraphale kisses his other temple, tasting the salt there. “Off with you. I’ll be close by, of course, to make sure you’re alright.”

“Please, I can’t…”

“You said you needed it, dear. So please… do take what you _need_.” Aziraphale smiles at him, fondly brushing the hair from his face. “And then we can go back where I will lay you out in front of me and give you what you _want_. Can you do that for me?”

Crowley swallows hard. “Yes, Mister Fell.”

“Good boy. Off you go. And don’t forget the digestives.”


	11. Holy Water - Human AU - gentle!Dom Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale makes Crowley pee in public.
> 
> I wouldn't really call this "watersports" but if anything related to the topic is not your thing... move along please
> 
> he/him for both, vulva for Crowley

“Please, Mister Fell…. Don’t make me…”

“I’m afraid you’re not giving me any other choice, dove. I asked you before we left the museum if you needed to go and you said no.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” Crowley makes a non-committal sound that’s almost a sob. “Please, I can’t do it here.”

“You can, darling. So many people do it every day. They just step behind a tree and do it. I’ve seen a rather drunk gentleman do it outside of my shop once.”

“Please….”

“How bad is it?” Aziraphale leans into him, all but pressing him against a tree in the square just outside the British Museum. To any outsider they are just a couple, sharing a little bit of affection among the trees. And they are. In a way. In a way that Aziraphale puts a hand on Crowley’s stomach, pressing down just so. “How badly do you need to go?”

Crowley wimpers. “Please let me go back to the museum. I’ll be quick.”

“That is not the point, dear. I’m supposed to take care of you, of your needs. Mentally and physically. But I can’t do that if you’re not taking care of yourself as well.” Aziraphale presses harder, making Crowley whimper. “So when I ask you if you need to go, you must tell me the truth. I’d rather wait for you if you do need to than have this little pickle we’re in right now.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Fell.”

“I know you are, my boy. Now…”

“Please, Mister Fell… don’t make me do this.”

Aziraphale twirls one of Crowley’s locks around his finger. “You can either do it right here where you might properly soil yourself or you may go behind one of those bushes. Your choice, my sweet.”

A little tears slips out from underneath Crowley’s glasses. “The bushes, please,” he says at last.

“That is alright. Off you go then.” Finally, Aziraphale lets up and lets Crowley slip out from under him. “You may bring me back your panties when you’re done.”

Crowley looks at him, then nods. “Yes, Mister Fell.” He disappears behind some shoulder high bushes where he squats down. 

Aziraphale can hear the rustling amongst the shrubbery and Crowley’s quiet sob before he finally lets go. If he looks really closely, he can probably see not just Crowley hunkered down but also the puddle forming between his feet.

At last, Crowley returns, tugging his dress back into place. He has his head bowed, trying to hide his tears. 

“There you are. All better now? Did you get it all out?” Aziraphale makes him look up. 

“Yes, Mister Fell. Thank you.” Crowley hands over a frilly set of lace panties. They feel damp in Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Thank you, my darling. I’m very proud of you.” Aziraphale kisses his cheekbone where it shines with tears. “Why don’t we go to Forbidden Planet and get you that Funky Freddie Mercury thing as a reward.”

“It’s Funko, Mister Fell.”

*

Later, back at Aziraphale’s place, he has Crowley in the tub, soaking in warm water. 

“I’m sorry,” Crowley says suddenly as Aziraphale is lathering his hair up with the luxury shampoo he has gotten for him. 

“What for, darling?”

“For making a mess of today. I should have known better.” Crowley leans back into the touch, pliant in Azirphale’s hand. 

“Maybe you should have. But so should I. You put your trust in me to look after you. Your wellbeing is my responsibility and I failed you. So it should be me to apologize to you.”

Crowley nods, letting Aziraphale massage his scalp until it’s time to rinse. Once he’s out of the tub, Aziraphale wraps him into a big fluffy towel and pulls him against him, tucking his head under his chin.

“I am so proud of what you did today, my darling. You were so brave for me.” He kisses the crown of Crowley’s head. “Just remember… should this happen again I’ll make you go out in the open.”


	12. Teeth - Canon - Post Apoca-no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale sleeps through their baby's cries...
> 
> he/him for both
> 
> This acompanies [this piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29631012/chapters/73473297)

Angels don’t sleep. Their true forms don't need it and it somehow translated to their earthly corporations. 

So for the past 6000 odd years, Aziraphale hasn’t slept. There has never been a necessity to do so and he has never seen the appeal of doing it just because he could. But now… now he is actually exhausted. Having a baby can do that. Even to a principality.

A principality who has dozed off in their bed, reading glasses askew on his nose. The book he’d been reading lays discarded by his side, thankfully none of the pages have creased. 

He jerks awake when he hears a hitched little scream. 

The baby.

Hastily, he jumps to his feet, pulling his robe tighter around his waist and rushes over to the other room. He stops short in the door. Words die on his tongue as Crowley lips a finger to his lips, shushing him. 

Crowley sits in the rocking chair by the window, wearing nothing but his pajama trousers. In his arms he holds a tiny bundle wrapped in a flower-print blanket. From within the blanket come little wailing sounds, some gurgling and quiet sniffles. 

As silently as he can, Aziraphale pads into the room. “It’s the teeth again?”

Crowley nods quietly. He pushes the blanket down a bit, revealing a little baby gnawing on a red teething ring, their eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“I didn’t hear them crying.” Aziraphale sounds almost guilty.

“You were sleeping.”

“You could have woken me up.”

“It’s okay if you sleep, angel.”

“I shouldn’t sleep through my baby crying. I should…”

Crowley puts a hand on his arm and once again, Aziraphale falls quiet. “Go make us a cuppa, yeah? I’ll put them down for now.”

Reluctantly, Aziraphale pulls back and nods. He plods downstairs into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Then he thinks better of it and draws out the milk pan. Tea won’t do. He needs a cup of hot chocolate.

“Why are you angry?” 

Crowley startles him and Aziraphale almost spills some of the cocoa powder. “Because you make me spill my hot chocolate.”

“Aziraphale.”

It’s the use of his name instead of ‘angel’ that makes Aziraphale deflate a bit. “I’m not angry with you, dear. I could never be…”

Crowley snorts. “I recall that one time in…”

“Alright, yes. I was angry with you then but… I’m angry with myself now.”

“Because you feel asleep? Angel, I slept through an entire century and I couldn’t care less about the things I missed.”

“But you didn’t sleep through the cries of your baby,” Aziraphale snaps and this time he does spill the cocoa powder. “I should be up at the first sound. I should take care of them, know what they need before they know it. Not give in to some…” He almost spits the words. “Temptation.”

A little smile edges onto Crowley’s face. “We may have invented beds having the most perfect temperature just when you need to get up… but the whole sleep thing… that’s Her fault.” He points up. “She made humans so they get exhausted after a few hours.”

“But I’m…”

“Exhausted,” Crowley interrupts. “You… we have a baby. Who is teething right now. It’s only… well, human, to be tired.”

“But I’m… I should…”

“Let me help, that is what,” Crowley cuts him off again. “I… made them… I can take care of them when you need to rest.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that you…”

“I know.” Crowley worms his way in between the stove and Aziraphale. “And I know all this is…”

“Scary?”

“Bloody terrifying, yes. But we got this. The two of us, alright?”

Aziraphale has to smile at that. “Since when are you the reasonable one?”

“What? Always have been.”

“I beg to differ. That time in…”

A high-pitched wail from upstairs cuts Aziraphale off. 

Crowley places a quick peck to the tip of his nose. “Go on, then. That one’s all yours.”


	13. Biting - Canon - Crowley-as-Gabriel/Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they have a different arrangement and one of them has a different skin.
> 
> he/him for everyone involved; cock for Aziraphale; the rest is up to your interpretation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that GOB server... it's making me write things...

It’s an arrangement. A different one. One that doesn’t have a capital A, probably doesn’t deserve one given its nature. But it is one that comes with equally well defined rules. 

They need rules for this. Boundaries. Which is a bit ironic because they need those rules and boundaries to properly let go. To open up. To give in. 

It has taken Aziraphale some time to get used to this, to really get with it. He doesn’t even use curse words so this… this is way out of his comfort zone. Which is the entire point.

“So tell me then… any sins you’d like to confess?” He makes his voice drip with disdain. 

“I’d never commit a sin. I’m an…”

It’s the voice that always gets to Aziraphale at first. Bodies can change, corporations are variable, but the voice… 

“You’re lying,” Aziraphale cuts in. “You’re lying to me. Which is a sin. So which one would you like to get punished for first? The one you’re lying about? Or the lie?”

The figure in front of him takes a step back as Aziraphale makes one forward. “Principality, I…”

“The desk.” Aziraphale nods at the piece of furniture in question. “Quite soon, if you don’t mind.” He flashes a brief smile. 

Dragging his feet a bit, the figure walks over to the desk and leans down, forearms flat on the surface.

“There’s a good archangel. Now… which sin is going to be?”

“The lie, Principality.” The voice sounds smaller now. Not as overly confident and cocky and plain annoying.

“Trousers.”

The grey cashmere pools around the figure’s legs, revealing obnoxiously well-tanned skin that spans over strong calves and thighs, wrapping around an admittedly very nice arse and disappears under a tailor-made shirt.

“Ten lashes for the lie,” Aziraphale says cooly as he draws the black-laqured cane from his umbrella stand. “You’ll count them for me.”

“Yes, Principality.”

Aziraphale deals those lashes quickly. They are just a warm-up. He hears a number for every strike and can’t help the tingle in his stomach. 

“Do you confess now?” He is a tiny bit winded as he rolls up his sleeves before the next round.

“I can’t. It’s too…”

“Is it too embarrassing? Too shameful? Too… forbidden?”

“Yes, Principality.”

“Because you’re an archangel and they shouldn’t do anything that is… forbidden.”

“I’m sorry, Principality.” 

“Twenty lashes. Twenty more if you don’t confess. You know we can do this forever. Quite literally, too.”

“Yes, Principality.”

Halfway into the twenty lashes, Aziraphale has him sobbing. Five more and he’s weeping. By the end, he’s a bubbly mess with a tear stained face and a bruised arse. 

“It’s a demon,” he blurts.

“Is that so?” Aziraphale puts the cane away and unzips his trousers at the same time. He’s hard and arching. Probably not as aching as his disciple’s arse. “Tell me… do you want him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to take him?”

“No, I… I want him to take me.”

“Like so?” With that, Aziraphale is inside him. Hot and wet and tight and so very good that he needs to fight for his own composure. 

“Yes, Principality. Just like so.” 

It ends quickly. It always does. It’s a bit pathetic but inevitable. It ends with Aziraphale leaning over him, teeth scraping against a bitemake he’s left there, whispering into his ear.

“You are forgiven.”

That’s when he finishes. Over the desk, soiling them both, but it doesn’t matter.

“Thank you, Principality.”

That’s always the end of it. 

That’s when Crowley morphes back into Crowley, shedding that other face like outgrown skin. That’s when Aziraphale cradles him into arms, lets him curl up against chest, lets him cry for as long as he needs to, and holds him until they’re both alright again. 

“You know I could never hurt you, my love,” he whispers into his hair. 

“But you can hurt him.”

“Oh gosh, yes. Any time.”

Crowley smiles at that, tired and sated. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

“Always?”

“Always.”


	14. Roman Baths - Canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they have a clandestine meeting at the baths
> 
> he/him for both, cock for Crowley and we're hinting at a vulva for Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by more talks on the GOB server and [Yoite's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/profile) thirst for top!Crowley.

“Crowley.” The Aziraphale way says it, his name has about 27 ‘y’. “Fancy meeting you here. What a pure and utter coincidence. Quit the chance, really.”

Crowley peers at him over the rim of those ridiculous tiny spectacles. “You asked me to come here. Hardly a coincidence.”

“Would you…” Aziraphale breeches the gap between them but stops short of actually touching Crowley. He places a finger to his own mouth, shushing him. “Would you keep your voice down? I don’t want us to be heard.”

“Who’s going to hear? My lot don’t care, they invented these places. And your lot… they either look away in shame or have a hand up their toga watching.” The peering intensifies. “Much like you, it seems.”

“I beg you, don’t say that so loudly.”

“You’re begging already? I haven’t done anything yet.” Crowley shoots him a flashy grin. “Why don’t you get one of them to do it?” He points at the other patrons of the baths.

“You know why,” Aziraphale hisses. “They… they don’t understand how these corporations work.”

“So you summon me here because I know all your buttons and levers?”

If Aziraphale could have turned a deeper shade of red, he would have. “It’s… all buttons this time.”

Crowley quirks a brow. “Lead the way.”

Aziraphale drags him off to one of the alcoves that is a little off to the side, giving them a hint of privacy. 

Privacy. In an open space. Surrounded by at least two dozen men. 

Aziraphale tries to shake that thought off and turns. Only to have Crowley right in his face, golden eyes gleaming.

“So, how do you want to do this, angel?”

“I.. uhm…” He places a hand to Crowley’s chest. “No...no kissing.”

“Of course not. What would they think if I laid one on you.” A sneer flickers over Crowley’s face as he steps back. “Lose the toga, then.”

When Aziraphale hesitates, Crowley breeches the gap between them again, snaking a hand in between the folds of the heavy garment. 

His fingers ghost over every soft curve he can find; over Aziraphale’s chest where he brings his nipple to hardness by the lightest touch, down over the round of his stomach, and finally… 

Aziraphale hisses as Crowley touches him, slides a finger into him without preamble. “Goodness…,” he breaths. 

“Excited, aren’t we?” Crowley drawls, pushing deeper, quicker. “How long has it been?”

“When we last met.”

Crowley stops his movements. “That was three years ago.”

Aziraphale leans his forehead against his shoulder, unable to look at him. “Please….”

Crowley sits him down, kneeling between his knees, and unfastens the toga. The air around them is warm and damp but Aziraphale still shivers as he’s laid bare. 

“I got you, angel.” For a second, Crowley almost sounds soft but that impression crumbles when he dives between Aziraphale’s thighs.

He comes on Crowley’s forked tongue almost immediately, clawing at his too short hair, the hitched little scream echoing in the baths. 

“I assume you’re not quite sated yet?” Crowley smiles up at him, licking his lips. 

Aziraphale doesn’t answer. He sits back in the alcove, drawing Crowley along and over him, almost pulling him inside. 

Crowley’s belt clutters to the floor as he strips halfway. He’s bigger than Aziraphale remembers or maybe it’s the cloud in his brain that muddles up his judgement. He feels bigger, too, when he pushes in, making Aziraphale gasp in somewhat pained delight. It’s been so long. Too long.

It’s a longer dance, this one. Full of little sighs and moans, of exploring hands, curious fingers. Crowley’s breath against his throat. No touching. Never that. 

They race each other to their height, Aziraphale stumbling first, pulling Crowley along. Once. Twice. 

“Alright, now?” Crowley has to ask, shattering their little bubble. 

Aziraphale nods, biting his lip. He holds back a whimper as they disentangle and Crowley dresses again. 

“Don’t let it be three years again.”

Now, Aziraphale does look up. At sad, golden eyes. “I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @tastymoves


End file.
